The sweet ain’t sweet without the bitter

My last post ended with ‘How long can a hungry woman wait?’ Not long, I can tell you now. Until yesterday actually.

Matthew might be the king of ‘starters’ but he is playing a game - he is trying to seduce me into a relationship, just like a woman would do, with withholding sex.

Now everything makes sense – the invitation to his best friend’s wedding, meeting his sister and best friends in his local pub. When he asked me to meet his Mother, alarm bells went on.

From the beginning I kept reminding I didn’t want a relationship. I always paid for myself, sometimes even treated him to a dinner. Maybe I gave a wrong impression and there has been some sort of role reversing here?

Yesterday I left work with Matthew, and headed to mine for a quiet evening, which I was hoping would be filled with heavy petting. I offered to cook him dinner and make a dessert, as usual.

But instead my petting-buddy sits me down, and corners me to agree to meet his Mother next weekend, then joyfully jumps in the shower. I’m on the sofa, with a cocktail in my hand, tasting good quality vodka from the latest trip to Poland, and realising what the hell I’m doing. I’m practically agreeing to be in a relationship.

Matthew is now back in the room, giving me big, juicy kiss.

‘I can’t meet your mother’ I say quietly.

He sits down and swiftly replies ‘We can postpone it, if that’s what you want’.

I look up and sigh ‘No, what I’m trying to say is… I don’t want a relationship’.

Silence. I’m surprised there is no more convincing, trying to keep the game alive.

‘I wouldn’t want to mislead anyone, especially you. Honesty is important to me.We can keep things as they are – just without the whole family introductions’ I add.

He seems relieved that I’m not totally breaking up, and perks up offering to help me with the starter (!). I serve deliciously smelling dinner, we chat about work, I keep offering more potatoes or salad. He accepts. And another portion. And one more. I was hoping to make a potato salad tomorrow… so not giving any more helpings. But as I clear the dishes, Matthew gets up from the table and springs to the pot, now finger picking potatoes as if they were peanuts, and downs them hastily.

Is he trying to kill himself with overdose of spuds??

I panic, but soon start feeling sorry for him, and wish I could give him a hug. Instead I just stand there.

‘I better go. Need to think things over’ he mutters.

I nod, and watch Matthew walking out without turning back.

Later, I fall asleep swallowing tears.